This Time of Grace
by kezztip
Summary: 12 years later Quinn turns up on Puck and Rachel’s doorstep to return an unwanted gift. At least Grace thinks she is unwanted. What will it take to convince her that she is wide of the mark?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I hold no claim or right to profit from this story – unless you count reviews as currency and then, yes, I do hope to profit.

Summary: 12 years later Quinn turns up on Puck and Rachel's doorstep to return an unwanted gift. At least Grace thinks she is unwanted. What will it take to convince her that she is wide of the mark?

**A.N. My first Glee fic – please be gentle.**

Chapter 1

"This is all your own fault, you know," her mother said as she dragged the dark haired girl along the sidewalk.

The child said nothing.

Quin sighed in pure aggravation, wondering not for the first time what she had ever done to be cursed with such a sullen child. You would think that having your entire bright future derailed by a teenage pregnancy would be punishment enough for any youthful wrongdoings – making the occasional gleek cry, having sex with your boyfriend's best friend in a moment of frustration, surely she had paid her dues by now. As she looked down at the chubby eleven year old shuffling beside her, watering eyes hidden behind thickly rimmed glasses, she realised her penance was still ongoing.

Quinn came to a stop as she reached the street number that matched the address in her book. Looking up at the New York brownstone, she was a little disgruntled to find it to be a very attractive residence in a subtle high-class way. _They're doing well for themselves_, she thought sourly. She comforted herself with the thought that the Pasadena mansion she called home could fit three of this shoebox into it. As she raised her fist to rap on the front door, her lifelong cross to bear tugged on her designer coat pleadingly.

"Please, Mommy," her teary voice begged – whined, Quinn heard – "Please don't leave me with them."

For a moment a flicker of maternal feeling pricked Quinn's conscience, a ghost of the emotion she had felt when she first held her newborn daughter and imagined a future with a pretty blue eyed blonde girl who would bring credit to her mother in the form of cheerleading championship trophies. But then her blue eyes had turned hazel-green, and the blonde baby curls had darkened to brown, and one day she turned around to find herself looking at the female translation of that same smug jerk that had blown her life to pieces by knocking her up. With a sharp tug, she freed her coat from Grace's white-knuckled grip.

"You should have thought about that before you embarrassed your stepfather with that display at his press conference," Quinn replied coldly.

"But I didn't mean to embarrass Howard," Grace cried. "When that nice reporter asked me about what kind of man he is, I just wanted to make him sound heroic so I told him about that time I walked in on him and Consuela and she had just fainted onto the bed and he was giving her mouth to mouth and then I think he was about to start thumping on her chest like they do on those hospital shows except he was much more gentle about it and seemed to be trying to get a really good grip first and – "

"Enough," Quinn barked, instantly cowing the little girl. She didn't need any more reminders of her husband's seedy fascination with the household staff. She shut her eyes as she remembered his parting words last night, just after he had booked their flight; _I didn't rescue you from the hell of single motherhood just to have your little bastard serve me up at my own press conference._ She hated it when Howard reminded her how much she owed him, how magnanimous he, the 24 year old law student, had been to take pity on the beautiful pregnant 17 year old and whisk her away to a life of luxury and respectability that exceeded all her Lima-escape dreams. If sometimes she questioned whether putting up with his numerous infidelities was worth the price, she was quick to turn her thoughts in a more positive direction like jewellery. Or clothes. Or the pool boy who came Mondays and Thursdays.

_Speaking of pool boys_, she thought as she heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. It swung open to reveal her first foray into the art of slumming.

"Hello, Puck," Quinn said, her mouth popping the "p".

"Quinn," he replied, shock clearly written over his features. "What are you doing here?"

"Noah?" a voice called from behind him. "Who's at the door?"

"Come and see for yourself, Man hands," Quinn called back. The feminine heels paused a moment and then put on a speed spurt so that soon there was long brunette hair brushing at Puck's shoulder. Puck put his arm around his wife's waist but positioned her slightly behind him, as though to protect her from some threat.

"Quinn?" Rachel said doubtfully; it had been 12 years since she had seen the scourge of her high school existence. The smoothly polished blonde woman before her had come a long way from the pony-tailed cheerleader who wore her Cheerio uniform as incessantly as a cartoon character, and she was almost unrecognisable. Except for the supercilious way she looked down her nose as she raked Rachel over with her contemptuous stare. That was hard to forget.

"In the flesh," her nemesis replied. Her eyes slid slyly back to Puck. "You remember my flesh, don't you, Puck?"

"Not really," he said coolly. "I was pretty damn wasted that night." He flicked her over with his own contemptuous stare. "Obviously. So, one more time, Quinn. What are you doing here?"

Quinn pulled Grace, who had gone unnoticed trembling at her mother's back, in front of her.

"I just dropped by to return a little something you left with me, Puck." So saying, she gave the child a shove towards the astonished couple standing in the doorway. "Grace, meet your father."

"Hi," the child mumbled, eyes glued to her shiny black Mary Janes. Too scared to look up and see the hungry look that flared in Puck's eyes, or the compassion in Rachel's.

"What are you saying, Quinn," Puck said cautiously as he reached out a hesitant hand towards the daughter he had never met.

"What I'm saying is I've put 12 years into her." Quinn snapped her fingers at the cab driver who immediately hauled two large suitcases up to the porch. Then she turned her steely gaze back to the man she held responsible for ruining her life. "You can take it from here."

That said, Quinn turned on her Jimmy Choos and walked away without a backward glance.

**A.N. Should I go on?**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**A.N. Wow, I am blown away by the response to my first chapter! I've been wanting to write a Glee fanfic for a while but have been too intimidated by all the great writing I've found in this category. I am touched by the huge vote of confidence you have all given me and will do my best not to disappoint!**

**On another note, sorry I am a bit slow to update. These amazing authors who trot out huge chapters daily have me in awe but I'm afraid I am not the speedy type. I'll try and update weekly.**

"Quinn, wait," Puck yelled, breaking out of his stupor and chasing her down before she could get into the cab. Grace shuddered as he passed her. Rachel did not know if it was because of the biting November chill or from the trauma of being dumped on a strange doorstep by her mother, but she was guessing the way her husband had just blown past her as though she didn't exist wasn't helping with the abandonment issues that must be piling up in her little psyche by the second. Rachel sighed; she loved Noah dearly but sensitivity had never been his specialty.

"Grace, is it?" she asked softly. Two jade-brown eyes, magnified by the too-large glasses, met her own. "Let's get you out of the cold, honey."

Grace bit her lower lip, looking over towards her biological parents who were having a heated exchange of words. "Is he trying to make Mommy take me back?" she asked in a small voice.

"Um... I think he's just trying to work out with your mother what is best for you, Grace." Rachel winced as the words "your turn to deal with the little brat" carried over on the morning air. Followed soon after by Puck's angry voice saying "You told me you gave her up for adoption! All this time..."

"It won't do any good," Grace said sadly, grasping the suitcase handle with both hands and dragging it to the door. "When Mommy makes up her mind, she doesn't change it."

"Let me help you with that," Rachel offered, taking charge of the luggage and quickly ushering the child into her home.

As soon as Grace hit the warm air of the centrally heated living room, she began shaking in earnest, teeth chattering in accompaniment. Small wonder, Rachel thought, considering what the girl was wearing. She had rarely seen Quinn out of her cheerleading uniform when she was a teenager so she had no way of knowing what kind of fashion sense she exercised behind the scenes, but judging from the way she dressed her daughter, common sense was not a heavy factor. Grace was not so much dressed as packed into a neon pink hoody with the word "Juicy" bejewelled across her flat chest – utterly inappropriate for someone her age - and a pair of purple corduroy pants that looked to be a size too small. She had not yet grown out of her baby fat and the way the pants cut into her midriff looked as unflattering as it did uncomfortable.

"Do you have any – warmer clothing, Grace? Maybe something a little looser, perhaps?"

Grace seemed to read her new stepmother's mind when she shook her head and said, "All my clothes are like this. Mommy always buys them one size too small to be an incense – incent..."

"Incentive?"

Grace nodded her head solemnly. "Yes. Incentive. So I will lose weight and she can be proud of me." She looked down forlornly at her round tummy. "It didn't work out too well."

Rachel was horrified; what kind of parent insisted that a child had to change the way she looked to be found worthy? Taking the girl's hands, Rachel held her gaze and said "Grace, although the media and current social norms will attempt to indoctrinate you into a completely facile belief system, it is a true test of character to rise above these superficial expectations and resist their influence."

Grace blinked. "Huh?"

"That's Rachel-speak for 'don't buy into that crap'," a voice said from the doorway. Grace spun around to find the man responsible for kick-starting her existence. He was staring at her so intently it made her even more nervous. His hooded gaze made her recall the conversation she had shared with her mother on their recent cross country flight. She had just asked why they were flying to the other side of the country, fearing she was being exiled to boarding school (that had been her stepfather's favourite threat whenever she irritated him).

"_Grace, it's about time we faced the fact that you're never going to fit into the lifestyle that Howard and I have tried so hard to provide for you," Quinn explained as she sipped on the dry martini the steward had just handed her. "You never say the right thing. You can't walk across a room without tripping over the furniture. You don't have any friends and, really, just look at you."_

_A fat tear rolled down her daughter's cheek. "I try, Mommy. I really do."_

_Quinn patted her hand consolingly. "I know, sweetie. It's not your fault – well, not all of it. It's just that you are exactly like your father."_

_Grace winced. There was no greater criticism her mother could level at her than to compare her to her father. The day Grace had come home from preschool and asked her mother what a bastard was and why did that little girl call her one, was the day she discovered she was descended from her mother's least favourite type of person – a loser. Over the years, her mother would let other little details slip, usually after she had been drinking, which painted a picture of a man who had blazed a sexually promiscuous trail that left scores of females in his wake. The nadir of his dastardly career was marked at a party 12 years ago when he had seduced and impregnated his best friend's drunk (but still virginally innocent) girlfriend. Apparently he was such a loser that her mother preferred to run away to Pasadena to live with a sympathetic aunt rather than trust in her baby's father to take care of her. All in all, Noah Puckerman was not a nice person to know._

"_You know, this could be a good thing for you, Gracie," Quinn continued, flashing that too big smile she pulled out whenever she talked to reporters about her husband's political talents. Like she knew it was going to be a hard sell but if she just smiled wide enough maybe it would sound believable. "I doubt that Puck has very high standards in his family. After all, he married the biggest loser that ever walked the halls of McKinley High, so that tells you something right there. I'm sure if you just keep your head down and stay out of his way, your life there will be quite… tolerable."_

_Grace stopped asking questions after that. She had a feeling she was better off not knowing._

So now we return to three people staring at each other in a New York living room, waiting for somebody to break the awkward tension. Which Grace accomplished when she tripped over the edge of the Turkish rug and knocked over a small end table with its contents. She winced as a ballerina statuette smashed to pieces.

"Sorry," she said miserably, fearfully eyeing the two strangers she happened to be related to.

"Don't worry about it," Puck said, leaning against the arm of the sofa. "If my mother did to me what yours just did, I'd want to smash something too."

"Noah!" Rachel admonished.

"What, Rach? The woman just left her daughter on the doorstep of a couple she hasn't spoken to in over a decade – and the last time she did speak to us it wasn't pretty. The kid has a right to be pissed." He turned to Grace for some back up. "Right?"

Grace blinked owlishly at Puck, her sleepless night on the redeye catching up with her (she was afraid of flying). "Actually, I'm feeling more tired than anything," she said. "But thank you for asking," she finished politely.

"What am I thinking? You're practically dead on your feet! Come with me, I'll show you where the guest room is," Rachel fussed, sweeping this white faced waif under her wing. She threw a look back at her husband over her shoulder, one he knew well from 8 years of marriage; _How are you going to fix this?_

He wished he knew.

Eight years married, and then of course there were the four that came before when they had dated. In a way, he owed the little stranger who had just entered his home for his life. When Quinn had fled town in her fifth month of pregnancy (apparently she had decided that Finn was not promising baby-daddy material either), she had left behind a collection of notes for her friends and family. With nothing left to lose and no more music to face, she had decided to experiment with that whole honesty thing and had named Puck as the true father of her child. But from that point, truth and fiction got a little blurred as Quinn's note to her boyfriend described how Puck had poured hard liquor down her throat until she was practically paralytic (in fact it had been two wine coolers and she had needed no coaxing, either for the drinking or the sex). It didn't need Finn's fist colliding with his cheekbone to tell him that he had lost his best friend that day. The disbelieving look of disgust on his long face was more than eloquent.

When everybody Puck cared about turned their back on him, leave it to Rachel to be the only one standing by his side. At first he had rejected her efforts, snarling that he wasn't so far gone that he needed pity from the likes of her. She had calmly pointed out that it wasn't like he was being flooded with offers of support. He may as well have saved his energy because trying to come between Rachel Berry and someone she felt was in need of her protection was like trying to come between Kurt and his GHD hair straightener. And so a friendship had developed and if the reluctance on his part was more show than real, it must be because he was a born performer like Rachel kept telling him.

There were drawbacks to having Rachel as a friend. Like the way she never let him get away with coasting, whether it be school work or finding "that elusive high B". In both aspects she coached, nagged and demanded of him until he was ready to strangle her with her argyle cardigan. The only thing that saved her life was the proud gleam in his mother's eyes when he started bringing home some respectable grades, or all those male leads that started coming his way.

Then there was the way she wouldn't leave the Finn situation alone. She was convinced that Puck would waste away without the company of his childhood friend so with her usual masterminding, she hatched a scheme so that he and Finn would have to interact. Knowing money was tight and scholarships were scarce, she convinced Finn, Puck and Artie to form a band with her to raise money for college. Apparently her dads were well connected through their legal and medical professions to just about everyone worth knowing in Lima, so that their band had first shot at every school dance, wedding and bahmitzvah going. It also helped that they totally rocked. Of course, in the tight knit unit of a band, Finn's naturally forgiving nature could not hold out against his apologetic friend. Just as Rachel had planned, music healed the rift between the two boys.

But the greatest difficulty to being Rachel's friend was just being around her. He thought he had learned his lesson from that first time they had experimented with dating that Rachel was too fixated on Finn to ever seriously consider him as an option. He had tried to keep some distance between them but Pandora's box had been opened from that one short week when she had licensed his hands and lips to explore her mouth and skin. Now, sitting on her bed rehearsing music for glee, all he could think about was the first time he had sat on her bed and what position they had ended up in that time.

So Puck would always try to keep a good three feet between himself and Rachel, staying downwind of her delicately floral perfume that incited him to unfriendlike acts. He managed to keep this barrier up for some time. That is, until the day he had received that phone call from Quinn.

It was both relief and torture to hear from her. No-one knew where she had run away to except for her parents and they had coldly refused to tell Puck, no matter how he begged. He had no way of knowing what was happening to his child and the fact that Quinn was MIA kept her out of reach of any legal action he could take, even if he could afford a lawyer. That last month of her pregnancy, he was jumpier than that time Mrs Shuester had dosed him with those crazy vitamins until finally Quinn called to say that she had had the baby and had already given it up for a closed adoption. Papers signed, done deal, case closed. Click.

He managed to keep it together for the next couple of hours. No one even realised he had just been told that he had lost his little girl forever. That is until he walked into Glee practice. Rachel took one look into his eyes, grabbed him by the hand and dragged him out of there into the nearest storage closet. Before he knew what was happening he was wrapped in her arms, trying to hold back the shuddering sobs that threatened to tear his body apart. He didn't know how long she held him like that, minutes or hours. What he did know was that their feelings for each other shifted that day, like an earthquake had realigned the geography of their friendship so that now the idea that Rachel might love him no longer seemed so far-fetched.

Puck shook his head. He had not thought about that day in so long because, in spite of the sweetness of his moments with Rachel, the memory was tainted by the feeling of failure that had overwhelmed him. He had failed his little girl; she would grow up with strangers and never know she had a father who loved her and wanted to be with her. He would not be around to make sure she was kindly treated and well loved. He had consoled himself with the thought that she would be adopted by a loving couple who would give her all the things he was not equipped to. He had clung to that belief like a security blanket.

Of all the times in his life he was wrong about something, it just had to be this time.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**A.N. Thanks to all the wonderful reviewers out there and the people putting alerts and favourites on my little story. I am starting to see new directions for this fic which often happens once I've set the ball rolling. I'll have to think on that some more so the ideas aren't half-baked. Anyway, here is the next instalment – hope you like.**

"She's asleep," Rachel said, breaking the silence. Since she had found Puck in the kitchen, she had been waiting for him to say something for what seemed hours but was actually 5 minutes. He glanced up briefly from stirring his coffee but then looked away. "From what I can surmise, it's the first time she's slept in the last 24 hours." Rachel sighed, rubbing her fingers against her temple. "Noah, what are we going to do?"

Puck grunted, giving a half-shrug. "How should I know? Do I look like I know anything about raising kids?"

"Something tells me we're both about to undertake a crash course."

Puck was silent for a minute. "Maybe we should talk to Quinn."

Rachel gave him a sharp look. "Are you serious? After what that woman just did?"

"We don't know the whole story. Maybe she was just having some kind of mother meltdown and when she cools down she'll come back for the kid."

"If she does I'll set Child Welfare on her," Rachel vowed. "Noah, that girl is utterly miserable and I strongly suspect that was her state of mind long before Quinn brought her here."

"What are you saying? That we should just play happy families with a strange little girl we never set eyes on before today?"

"She's your daughter!" Rachel reminded vehemently.

"Yeah, well, that's a tough break for her," Puck said, standing up from the kitchen table and toppling his chair to the floor. "She's already paid enough for sharing my gene pool." Puck was thinking of Quinn's last words before she had made her getaway this morning. _I am sick of seeing a reminder of your worthless self every time I turn around. _

"We are not giving her back to Quinn," Rachel stated, face set in lines of determination. "You know we can't do that." She tilted her head to the side, reading her husband's face. "What are you so afraid of?"

Puck looked around a little helplessly, cornered by circumstances. "Come on, Rach! You and me as parents? Your career is just starting to really take off now, you won't have time to play mommy. And if the kid's already messed up like you say, what do you think having me as a dad is going to do to her? She'll be all black lipstick and nose rings inside of a month."

Rachel shook her head, the hurt clear in her eyes as she said, "I know you don't have much faith in yourself, Noah, but I thought you had some in me. I wouldn't let my career compromise my parenting."

"God, don't start this again."

"Start what?"

"The whole baby debate. I thought we settled this last night."

"As I recall, you pushed me onto the bed and started kissing me before I could fully present my views on the subject. I hardly count a forcible seduction as any kind of settlement."

Puck smirked at her wickedly. "I don't remember you complaining last night."

Rachel drew her brows together into her best no-nonsense expression. "My point is, just because when I was a teenager I said I didn't want to have kids until after my career had peaked doesn't mean that resolve is not open to review. So I'm not the household name I always dreamed of – I'm still a Broadway legend and that's good enough for me."

"But if Fleishman is thinking about you for that movie – "

"Mark Fleishman is speaking to five other actresses besides me, all of them with far greater box office draw than I have."

"Kurt says you blew them away at the audition."

"Kurt is my agent and my friend; he's hardly impartial."

"Rach, I just don't want your dreams to be cut short because of me." _Like I did to Quinn_, was the phrase unspoken.

"It's not about me, Noah. And it's not about you and how you'd like to arrange the world. It's about that lost little girl sleeping upstairs. We have to do the right thing by her."

"I guess," Puck said, wishing he knew exactly what that was but far from sure that he was meant to be a part of it; so far being Grace's dad had caused the kid nothing but grief. But Rachel seized on his moment of wavering, her shining chocolate eyes lighting up with excitement.

"Yay!" Before Puck knew what was happening, she had closed the distance between them and her arms were snaked around his waist. As she squeezed him exuberantly, her voice muffled by his chest, she said "Maybe your daughter turning up at this time is like a sign from God. You know, that we're ready to be parents."

"The good Lord does like to send me signs," Puck mused, thinking back to a certain dream about a hot Jew he had once received from on high. That one had turned out very well.

"So we can keep her?"

"She's not a puppy, Rach. Although with those eyes, I can see the resemblance."

"She has your eyes," Rachel smiled, reaching up to peck his lips.

"With those God-awful glasses, how can you tell?"

"We should get her some designer frames. Or maybe contacts. And her wardrobe is terrible. Oh, I have to call Kurt," his wife cried, jumping away and sprinting towards the phone. "Kurt, my one true love!" she cooed into the phone, winking at Puck as he rolled his eyes. "How soon can you get your fantastic behind over to my place?"

"Rachel darling," was the groaning response, "It's 10.30 in the fucking am, on a Saturday no less, and I'm still recovering from a night of decadence drinking and dancing the night away at _Saloon_. So unless your gorgeous husband is rethinking his sexual persuasion and needs a willing subject to experiment on, there is nothing you can say to entice – ".

"Makeover," Rachel interrupted.

There was a pause. "What level?"

"DEFCON 2, with 1 waiting in the wings."

"I'm already there."

"Oh my God, she's a mini-Puck."

"Shhh! You'll wake her up."

Grace blinked sleepily, slowly focusing on the pretty lady who was married to her father and a slender man whose hair looked like it was shellacked into place. Seriously, there was not a single hair breaking away from the pack.

"Hi, honey, how are you feeling?" Rachel asked, smoothing the hair back from Grace's forehead.

"Uh… OK, I guess." Sensing more elaboration was required; "A little hungry."

"Do you mean hungry to take a bite out of Manhattan's most delicious late season spring couture?" the strange little man asked.

Grace had been thinking more along the lines of Rice Krispies but she shrugged and nodded, which seemed to be the right move as the man and woman – Rachel, she thought her father had called her – broke out into big smiles.

"That's the spirit. Stick with us, kiddo, and we'll make you a star," Kurt promised.

"And we'll pick up a breakfast burrito along the way," Rachel added, much to Grace's relief.

"Is my Dad going to come too?" the child asked hopefully. Rachel's face fell.

"Actually, he had some things to take care of today," she explained. "You see, your Dad runs this nightclub and sometimes it gets booked out at night for private functions and then he has to be there during the day to prepare and…oh dear…. Kurt, help!"

"Trust me, Mini-Puck, you do not want your father joining you on any fashion encounters. The man couldn't tell Marc Jacobs from Marks & Spencer."

"Mini-Puck? Kurt, don't call her that." Rachel ordered as Grace scampered into the en-suite to dress.

"But she looks just like him, except for being a little chubby and – you know – female." Rachel continued to frown. "Baby Puck? Puck the Next Generation?" He snapped his fingers as inspiration hit. "I've got it – Puckette!"

"Her name is Grace," Rachel insisted.

"I wonder where Quinn got that name from," Kurt said, as he started picking through the contents of Grace's suitcase, nose wrinkled in distaste. "Or these outfits – doesn't that woman have any taste? This wardrobe is at least DEFCON 1 and a half."

"Maybe she was thinking of that old U2 song. _Grace... It's a name for a girl_," Rachel sang.

"_It's also a thought that, changed the world_," Kurt picked up.

They looked at each other and smiled before harmonising together

"_And when she walks on the street  
You can hear the strings_"

Suddenly a new voice joined in "_Grace finds goodness in everything_." Rachel and Kurt turned to look at Grace with such open-mouthed astonishment that she faltered, convinced she had broken a rule. Her stepfather and mother had always frowned on her singing, Howard because he only liked classical music and her mother because apparently only losers broke into song all the time. But Rachel and Kurt had done just that so she had thought maybe there were different rules here in New York.

"Rachel, catch me, I think I'm about to faint," Kurt whispered. "Child, what devil did you bargain with to get that heavenly voice and can you arrange me an introduction?"

Grace looked confused. "You… you don't mind me singing?"

"Mind? Grace, that was wonderful," Rachel declared, sweeping the girl into a joyous hug. "How could someone object to something so beautiful?"

Grace's eyes got even rounder to hear the word 'beautiful' applied to herself. She also found she liked the way Rachel smelled, all apple and cinnamon, and she was very good at hugging. Her mother had lost that habit years ago.

Rachel seemed to guess the reason for Grace's trepidation and assured her that in this house, bursting into song was not only allowed but practically a way of life. Kurt nodded. "It's true. We all live in a musical." A concept the child found so attractive her grin practically took over her face.

Taking Rachel's offered hand, she walked between Kurt and Rachel down the stairs, out the front door and into the cab that had been ordered. It wasn't until they had travelled five blocks that she said out of nowhere "Grace Kelly."

"What was that, honey?"

Grace looked up at Rachel, her face having reverted back to its usual solemn expression. "That's why my mother named me Grace. I was supposed to look like Grace Kelly."

There was an awkward silence while Rachel and Kurt exchanged looks over the little girl's head.

"Pah," Rachel scorned, waving a manicured hand dismissively. "Do you think Grace Kelly had a voice like yours? She wishes!"

Kurt put an arm around Grace's shoulders. "It's true, Puckette, the girl couldn't sing her way out of a paper bag."

Grace wrinkled her nose in confusion. "Puckette?"

**A.N. I had fun writing this chapter. If you had fun reading it, please leave a review at the door. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N. I know, I know, I suck on too many levels to count for being so late with this update. I blame it on a crippling bout of writer's block which made just about every paragraph feel like I was chiselling marble! Please don't hold it against me and review anyway! Thanks so much to all who reviewed last chapter and hopefully the next chapter will not take me so long.**

**One more thing, I have to admit Grace is not a completely original character - I've based her on a character from Susan Elizabeth Phillips book "Natural Born Charmer" which I heartily recommend as a cracking good read!**

Chapter 4

"Why the hell did we agree to host Nate Silverberg's 21st here?" Puck grumbled as he went over the catering lists. "Stinking up the place with his upper east side brat pack trust fund rejects."

His business partner and best friend merely shrugged, accustomed to the grousing. "His money doesn't stink," Finn said. "What's with you? You're usually all about the bottom-line."

"I just don't want this place to become known as some glitzy rich people's hang-out, that's all. Trust me, it'll be bad for business if I'm always fighting the urge to beat up our customers." Puck looked around the club with a jealous eye. Although he, Finn and Artie had opened the place five years ago, it was very much Puck's baby and was a reflection of his vision. It combined modern and rustic with its high-glossed wooden floors, darkly red colour scheme and a collection of booths, chairs and tables which, while none being identical, somehow managed to blend to a pleasing effect. Although the "look" owed something to Mercedes who had made her usual forceful suggestions on the renovation as she viewed the process from her interior design studio in Los Angeles, thanks to the magic of web cams.

The stage and lighting built into the corner was Finn's contribution to the fit-out. During their years at NYU they had supported themselves by taking the band they had formed in high school onto the New York club circuit and had surprisingly met with more success than that sort of endeavour usually finds. However, not all clubs are equal and they had found themselves wrestling with dodgy equipment and poorly designed stage areas which did not even have wheelchair access for their lead guitarist, a deficiency they had rectified in their own establishment.

Right on cue (like any good performer), Artie chose that moment to roll down the stage ramp, cruising to a halt before his two partners. "I am sensing there is more to your stormy disposition than class prejudice. Could this have something to do with your long lost offspring turning up on your doorstep this morning?"

Puck narrowed his eyes at Artie. "How do you know about that?"

"Kurt knows about it. You should have automatically assumed everybody in "Team Glee" with the brains to work a cell phone would know by now."

They both looked over to Finn who was punching buttons on his phone, biting his tongue as he struggled to retrieve his text messages. "Ha! Got it," he exclaimed. Then his eyes widened as he read. "Holy shit! Drizzle is back?"

"Her name is Grace," Puck corrected. "Quinn dropped her off with us this morning and said we could keep her. But then, being Quinn and about as reliable as a 10 cent condom, there's no telling how long the kid will be with us before her sad excuse for a mother changes her mind and comes back for her."

"Is that why you're not jumping up and down and slaughtering the fatted calf?" Artie asked. "You don't think she'll be with you long?"

"Who cares how long she's with you," Finn interjected, slapping Puck's shoulder. "She's here now! You should be happy, dude! I know you always wanted a chance for her to get to know you."

"Easy for you to say, Hudson. Sure, twelve years ago I'd have given my left nut to have a chance to be a father to her, back when she was a baby not having a clue what was going on around her and catching on to all the mistakes I'd make. It's a different story when you're playing to an eleven year old audience who only knows you as the deadbeat dad who never sent her so much as a birthday card her whole life."

"So tell her your side of the story," Artie said. "Give her the good news that you're not that guy."

"What's the point? Words aren't going to change anything. Fact of the matter is I left her alone to be raised by the Queen Bitch of Lima and her smarmy politician husband. She _should_ hate me."

"Sorry, I thought we were organising a birthday party here, not a pity party," Artie said, rolling his eyes. "Must have my dates mixed up."

"You're right, we should get back to business. So, Silverberg wants live music. Is your wife all set for the female vocalist numbers?"

"Are you kidding? Now that Micah is teething, Tina looks for any excuse to hire a babysitter and give her eardrums a rest."

Puck turned to his other partner who had been quiet for a while now. "Finn, have you checked if we have enough of that fancy German beer they asked for? Finn?"

"Huh?" Finn duhed, pulling his head out of the clouds.

"Beer, Man. Stay with me here."

"Sorry, I was just thinking about…beer." Actually, Finn had been thinking of Quinn. _I can't believe she came back. I kind of wish I'd been around so I could ask her why she did what she did to me back in high school. It would have been good to get some closure. Lay the past to rest. I wonder if she's still hot?_

"Is Rachel going to step up to the mike tonight for a song?" Artie asked, giving up on Finn.

"That was the plan, but the plan was pre-Grace. She may want to stay home with the kid instead." Noah shook his head. "Kids change everything."

"Indeed they do, my friend," Artie agreed. "But speaking as one who is also new in the ways of fatherhood, I'm holding on to the belief that the payoff is worth it. At least, that's what I tell myself when my 6 month old son is screaming his head off at 3.00 am."

"That reminds me, we have to keep our wives apart tonight," Puck said in serious tones.

"Why? I thought they worked out a diva détente years ago when it comes to sharing the stage."

"It's not that. I think Tina's constant prattling on about Micah is having some weird brainwashing effect on Rachel. She keeps bringing up the having-a-baby discussion."

"And that's a bad thing because…?"

"Are you kidding me? She's got Broadway and movie deals in the works, she doesn't have time to raise a new baby. She doesn't really have time to raise my old baby either, but she's all over that like Coach Tanaka on a drumstick. No, between your wife's fixation on teething ointments and my mother's constant demands for grandchildren, Rachel doesn't know what she wants."

* * *

"Trust me, I know what I want," Rachel stated.

"A baby, Rachel? Why on earth would you want to saddle yourself with a drooling poop machine?" Kurt shuddered delicately as he sipped his caramel mocha latte.

"Having children was always the plan. I just feel the time is right to bump up the schedule a little. Kurt, I think I'm ready to be a mother!" Rachel exclaimed with an excited bounce on her seat. She and Kurt were enjoying an afternoon coffee break in the café section at Bergdorfs.

"Speaking of your keen maternal instincts, didn't we come in here with a girl child - say yay big, answers to the name of Grace? Or did that crew of white slavers get to her while you were agonising over whether to put sprinkles on your capp?"

Kurt laughed when Rachel's face went into panic-mode, until she spotted Grace coming towards them, carefully balancing a cup and saucer. Her appearance was greatly improved thanks to Kurt's guidance; rarely had he found greater satisfaction in a makeover result. Grace was now dressed in becoming but comfortable dark denim jeans with a forest green shirt. Her shaggy hair had been cut and straightened so it now framed her face (Rachel just glared at Kurt when he suggested a mohawk) and the optometrist had fitted the lenses from her hideous glasses into something a lot less Dame Edna (the contact lenses were on order). The most satisfying change in Rachel's opinion was that there were moments when the girl broke out of her Oliver Twist impersonation, losing that look of fear that if she said or did anything wrong she would be turned out on the streets. But when she was praised for her singing, or she looked into the dressing room mirror and actually liked what she saw, or she was encouraged to talk about her dream to one day run a puppy farm, her face shone with a happiness that transformed it into something beautiful.

"What do you have there, amazing Grace?" Kurt asked.

"It's a hot chocolate but it's made with skim milk," Grace qualified a little anxiously, as one who was accustomed to answering for her calories. Kurt shrugged nonchalantly, commenting that the full cream tasted better and she should have got extra marshmallows. Grace's eyes widened with awe to find herself in a world where she could eat fattening things in front of other people, instead of chomping down candy bars secretly in her bedroom; her chubbiness owed much to lonely comfort eating.

Rachel raised an eyebrow at her friend who could give the carb breakdown on any item on the menu, but he only answered with his usual supercilious smirk.

"Returning to our previous hot topic," Kurt resumed, "while as your friend I am naturally ecstatic that you feel centred enough to tackle the challenges of motherhood, as the man who receives 12 and a half per cent of everything you make, I have to ask – are you out of your freaking mind?"

Rachel frowned. "There is nothing wrong with taking time out from one's career to start a family."

"Maybe, if you're on a downward spiral, but your career is only looking up. Fleishman's people are starting to talk figures, Rach; figures! This movie will shoot your star right to the top of the A list. The whole world will love you!"

_Or hate me,_ Rachel thought. For a moment she flashed back to high school – the slushies, the pornographic drawings in the girl's bathroom, Jacob Ben-Israel's slanderous blog – she could still vividly remember a time when it seemed like everyone she met disliked her as soon as they met her. It was different here in New York; she had known from the day she arrived that these pushy, overconfident people were her own kind, and they had seemed to acknowledge the kinship as they applauded all her efforts with proud enthusiasm. But what if the rest of America was more like her home town than her adopted city? It was this thought that had her waking up in the middle of the night with her heart going like the Energizer bunny's drum roll. Only when Noah, half asleep, pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her neck soothingly did the anxiety begin to fade.

"Are you a movie star, Rachel?" Grace piped up as she licked chocolate milk off her spoon.

"That is the 5.7 million dollar question," Kurt said with a speaking look at Rachel.

"No, Grace, I'm not a movie star," her new stepmother said firmly. "I'm on Broadway." When Grace looked non-comprehending, Rachel added "I sing and act in musicals."

"Oh, I love musicals! So they actually pay you to sing? That must be the best job in the world." Rachel smiled in agreement.

"It is. Maybe one day you'll be up there with me, Grace. A voice like yours should be shared."

"Really?" Grace squeaked, her eyes somehow getting even wider. "But I'm just a kid and I'm not thin and pretty like you. And I kind of say the wrong things without meaning to…"

"Honey, you are drop dead gorgeous when you smile," Rachel assured her young protégé, "and if you're anything like me, you can't help smiling when you sing. Don't worry about the rest; I myself went through an awkward stage in my youth."

"Wasn't that called 'High School'?" Kurt murmured.

"Silence, traitor." Rachel reached into her handbag and pulled out an I-pod. "Would you like to hear some of my Broadway repertoire, Grace? This is just a little selection I put together from various cast recordings I have participated in."

"Only you would have recordings of your own voice in easy reach," Kurt said as Grace happily inserted the ear buds and started bobbing her head to the music.

"I didn't think our prior discussion was suitable for younger viewers," Rachel explained. When Kurt looked uncomprehending, Rachel continued "You know – about the b-a-b-y."

"Rachel, as deplorable as the public education system is, I think eleven year olds know how to spell 'baby'."

"Shhh!" Rachel shot a quick glance at Grace to see if she was listening in but the girl's eyes were closed as she hummed along to 'Seasons of Love'.

"So, you haven't mentioned your husband's position on the baby referendum. Where does Puck stand on the issue of your attempted career-suicide?"

Rachel pouted at the memory. "Noah is being quite unreasonable about the matter. Whenever I bring it up he refuses to take me seriously and tells me I'll forget all about it as soon as the next big offer comes in. Last night he refused to even talk about it at all – he just started taking my clothes off and..."

"Whoa, whoa, keep it clean," Kurt cried, holding up his hands. "Impressionable children and gay men sickened by hetero displays of affection at the table."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "One, she can't hear us and two, we both know you're just jealous."

"Even so," Kurt admitted, "if Puck doesn't want to throw his little swimmers into your pool, then the whole progeny proposition is moot."

"Um… not necessarily," Rachel said, suddenly having trouble meeting Kurt's eyes. His narrowed suspiciously as he sensed a guilty conscience.

"Rachel? What did you do?" She began fiddling with her teaspoon nervously.

"Well, you see, Noah was so intent last night on distracting me and not letting me talk that I sort of missed the opportunity to tell him that I had yet to take my birth control pill for the night." She met Kurt's shocked face with a twitchy smile. "It's ironic, when you think about it."

"Are you saying you could be…" Kurt gasped.

Rachel nodded solemnly. "It is quite possible I am with child." This earth-shattering news (and a vision of his six-figure commission flying away) distracted Kurt from noticing the look on Grace's face at this point. By unlucky chance, there had been a gap between songs when Rachel had made her announcement. But the adults were too caught up in their own drama to notice Grace, which did not hurt her feelings in the least because she was used to being overlooked by grown-ups. A thrill of excitement crept through her at the thought of having a little brother or sister.

This could be better than the puppies.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**A.N. I know everyone who followed this fic must have thought it was abandoned and I am so sorry – inspiration took a sabbatical instead of a holiday. My apologies for the wait – I hope you enjoy this little chapter.**

**Also I changed the name of the producer of Rachel's movie to a fictional name – I felt a little presumptuous making a real person a character in my story. Previous chapters have been updated.**

"I'm not setting myself up as an authority on good parenting," Puck spoke as he stepped into the reflection of Rachel's mirror, "but I wouldn't have thought taking an eleven year old to a New York nightclub was on Dr Spock's to do list."

"I just want her to meet Finn, Artie and Tina," Rachel explained as she pressed emerald studs into her ears. "Of course I'll keep her away from the party. Besides, I promised Tina I'd do a duet with her of that Dixie Chicks song." Which was the clincher as far as Rachel was concerned; if she made a commitment to perform, it would take a national emergency to prevent her. Puck knew this which was why he rolled his eyes but gave up the argument, making better use of his time surveying his wife wearing in her white lace lingerie that set off her olive-toned skin to mind-blowing perfection.

"So is this how you're making an entrance? Not that I'm complaining, but we haven't introduced stripper night _yet_," Puck teased, placing his hands on Rachel's hips and pulling her towards him.

Rachel smiled as she felt that bump against her backside which meant she still had the power to drive her husband crazy, brushing teasingly against it as she purred "My dress is white so I'm waiting 'til I've finished my makeup to slip it on. And if you ever want to see me in my underwear again, you had better not institute any presentations featuring exotic dancers at your establishment." Puck growled as he spun his wife around, about to claim her mouth with his own when the bedroom door crashed open.

"Rachel, Rachel," Grace cried in high excitement. "There is a boy at the front door with the most _beautiful_ flowers for you! I know you told me not to open the door to strangers so I was talking with him through the keyhole and guess what? I asked him if he had a dog and he said he has three and they are all black Labradors which are very intelligent dogs, from what I have read, and – why don't you have any clothes on?"

Rachel gasped, hastily slinking behind Puck's back. "Grace, I think we need to lay down some ground rules which involve knocking before entering bedrooms."

"Oh, I am sorry, but you must come and see these flowers. The bouquet is so big when I looked though the peephole I thought at first it was some kind of shrub with legs which would be really cool if plants could walk around because then you wouldn't have to worry about watering them, they could just walk over for a drink when they got thirsty." While Grace was talking Rachel slipped into a silk robe, belting it around her.

"One afternoon with you and she's already talking like her tongue hangs on a hinge," Puck observed as Rachel walked to the door.

"I know – wonderful, isn't it?" was Rachel's reply as she exited.

"I'm sorry," a small voice said, and Puck was startled to find his daughter's big hazel-green eyes no longer dancing with excitement but as mournful as a basset hound's. "Howard is always telling me I talk too much. I will be more quiet from now on, I promise. You won't even know I am here." The half-hopeful, half-fearful expression on her face made something stick in Puck's throat and he mentally kicked himself for transforming the impulsive child who had burst into the room into this apprehensive waif.

"That would be a crying shame," Puck said, crouching down to he level. "What's the point of being here if I don't know you're here? It's not like I want a ghost for a daughter."

Grace spied his crooked smile and a glint in his eyes that led her to the tentative conclusion, "So, you were joking, then? About me talking too much?"

"Sure. After 12 years with Rachel, I've built up a powerful immunity to talkative females, It's one of my secret powers," Puck assured her. Grace gave an uncertain smile, still wary of the tall man with the brooding eyes who was number 1 on her mother's list of regrets. She of course was number 2, so at least they had _something_ in common. Perhaps they could bond over their shared talent to disappoint, she thought as she followed her father out of the bedroom. They found Rachel in the foyer, setting a huge basket of yellow roses and purple irises onto the hall table.

"So, which producer is sucking up to you now?" Puck asked as he plucked the florist card from Rachel's fingers.

"Noah!" Rachel cried, outraged.

"Husband's prerogative," Puck said. "A man has a right to know who is sending his wife flowers."

"Oh, maybe its that Mark person you were talking about at lunch," Grace volunteered as she buried her small nose in the fragrant bouquet. "You know, the one who wants you to do that movie so bad."

Puck raised an eyebrow at Rachel. "I thought you told me he wasn't all that interested in you."

Rachel waved a hand as though batting the notion away. "Of course not. Grace is exaggerating."

"But Kurt said he was talking figures and even though I find math totally boring Kurt seemed to think figures are super important," Grace argued.

"Grace, honey, would you mind going to the kitchen and fetching a vase for these flowers?" Rachel asked, figuring the conversation was about to detonate and wanting her new stepdaughter clear of the danger zone. The little girl obediently trotted away.

"Talking figures, huh?" Puck opened the card and read "To Rachel, the newest and brightest star in our midst. I am wishing on your star that you will agree to make cinematic history as my leading lady. Show pity on this lowly mortal and grant my wish post haste. Mark Fleishman." He regarded Rachel coolly as she played with the tie of her robe, guilt written all over her. "I suppose I should congratulate you, although the fact that you are going to be working with someone who writes cards this fruity kind of makes me feel more like offering condolences."

"I haven't agreed to his offer," Rachel blurted.

"You mean the offer you said he didn't make?" Rachel looked away, 'caught out' written all over her face. "When did we start keeping secrets from each other, Rachel?"

"I'm sorry, I've been trying to tell you – Noah, I don't think I'm ready to take that next step in my career. I'm not even sure if I really want it anymore." She put her hands on his arms, gazing earnestly into his eyes. "I want to have a baby with you, Noah. I'm ready for it."

Her word sent a simultaneous bolt of joy and panic through his veins; the image of Rachel's body rounded with his child terrified him just as much as it made his stomach flip in a very un-badass way. He had mastered being a great husband, he was a pro when it came to dealing with Rachel's mood swings and perfectionism. He was a total specialist in the field of being supportive of her career; he could not count how many opening night performance jitters had he nursed her through or how many career decisions he had sound-boarded for her. But when it came to fatherhood, his record was pretty dismal, or so he believed. This was what made him say "I don't think I'm ready to be a father." As tears welled in his wife's eyes, Puck tried to draw her closer. "Rachel…" but she disentangled herself from him.

"I should finish getting ready," she said in a subdued voice and walked back to the bedroom.

Puck ran a distraught hand through his thick dark hair, mentally cursing himself for the pain his words had just inflicted. If he had looked behind him and seen the forlorn face of his daughter as she clutched a glass vase to her chest, he would have regretted his words doubly. But by the time he did turn around she had silently retreated back to the kitchen, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

"What more could go wrong?" Puck muttered. Always a dangerous question to put out there.


End file.
